


dance with your demons; they know how to waltz

by kindlystrawberry



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Random & Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Slow Dancing, Tenderness, nothing really happens they're just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlystrawberry/pseuds/kindlystrawberry
Summary: She had almost forgotten that Magilou had made some snide off-handed remark about good dancers making good fighters.
Relationships: Velvet Crowe/Rokurou Rangetsu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	dance with your demons; they know how to waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Is this self-indulgent? Yes. Do I know how to dance? No. I had to do a lot of research for this impulse one-shot I started halfway through my veizen fic, and then didn't finish for like 3 weeks. Hope you enjoy!

“What are you doing?”

The question came off as mostly skeptical but also partly incredulous, like he had just grown a second head in front of her (though, considering their daemonic nature, that probably would have left her less taken aback than she was now). 

Velvet hadn’t at all planned to stop when she heard faint music coming from the inn’s storeroom; why would she care enough to? But then she had heard a resounding  _ crash  _ followed by a creative, not-entirely-monolingual string of curse words in a voice that, to her annoyance, sounded all too familiar. 

She had begrudgingly shoved through the room’s door, expecting Rokurou to have toppled over while training or something of that sort (she told herself it would be inconvenient if her swordsman broke a limb or two, and that was all that warranted her checking on him), but was instead greeted with the sight of Rokurou holding an empty crate in front of him at arm’s-length with a foot rammed through another broken one, splinters sticking out painfully from his skin and the inn’s old phonograph eeking out a cheesy tune. 

“What does it look like?” Rokorou spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For once, Velvet had absolutely nothing to say, so she settled for gesturing confusedly at the scene in front of her while considering what she’d have to do if a daemon had actually, literally gone entirely out of their mind. 

“I’m  _ dancing _ ,” he clarified.

She actually couldn’t help but snort, raising her bandaged hand to try and cover her laugh. “ _ That’s  _ dancing?” 

She hadn’t realized how much bite she had packed behind her tone until, to her surprise, Rokurou averted her gaze, staringly pointedly at the wall across from her with a blush staining his cheeks, mumbling something along the lines of “Yeah, well…” 

With a  _ slightly  _ fond scoff and a shake of her head she moved to first relieve the phonograph out of its misery, and then crouch down in front of his leg. 

“Don’t move.”

Though her tone was far from friendly, her hands were gentle as she carefully picked out splinters. Luckily he had kicked through it with such force that the pieces were  _ large—  _ easy to pick out but his leg all the more bloody for it.

“You’re… surprisingly good at this,” Rokurou offered as he watched her.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “All our furniture was made of wood. I had to do this for Laphi a lot.” Her voice had gone slightly quiet, then, without her really meaning too, and the time passed in silence until she was done. She grabbed a handful of linen from the shelf closest to her and wiped down the blood. “The wood seems clean enough that you probably don’t have to worry about infection. You could still ask Phi to heal it next time you see him, though.” She gave another shrug. “Not that I care what you do.”

“Eh, I’ll leave it. Might turn into some cool scars.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as she stood, absently brushing off any dust from her shorts and tossing the now bloody fabric onto the floor.

“Thanks, Velvet.” He beamed at her, so brightly she actually felt the need to look away.

“Whatever. If you hurt your leg that would be inconvenient. I did it for my own sake.”

This time he shrugged, still grinning easily. “Either way, I’ll just add this to my debt to you.”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. “Do what you want.”

“I better get back to it, then.”

It was only then that Velvet realized he was still holding that stupid crate in his arms. She weighed whether or not it was worth it to ask. Damn.

“Back to… dancing?”

“Right.”

“And  _ this,  _ is…?”

“My partner, of course.”

Velvet blinked at him.

“The only other people left at the bar were men, and Eizen  _ tried _ to teach me but he’s terrible at not-leading. We kept stepping on each other’s toes— literally.”

She studied him for a moment. “... What Magilou said earlier really bothered you, huh?” 

The bar they had settled in earlier that night had played one of Eleanor’s favorite childhood songs, leading her to put on a rather impressive display of dancing with Laphicet. Even Velvet had enjoyed it, not that she would admit it— though it was in large part because of the adorably concentrated look Laphicet had worn as he followed along. She had almost forgotten that Magilou had made some snide off-handed remark about good dancers making good fighters.

Rokurou shifted the crate to one hand, using the other to scratch the back of his neck. “I guess… I just got to thinking how much dancing helps with footwork, and once I realized that it would make me a better fighter I just,” he made a vague motion that was rendered mostly useless by the large crate in his hand, “couldn’t let it go.”

She raised her eyebrow at him.

“ _ Alright,”  _ he conceded, with an annoyance that was rare coming from him that it was almost endearing to watch. “So I don’t really know how to start. I spent my whole life training with swords, I’m not really good for much else.” 

Velvet couldn’t help but snicker. With a slight shake of her head, she dropped her arms and said: “You really think it’ll make you a better fighter?” He nodded. “Then, come here.”

She held out her arms in the traditional ballroom style.

Now it was his turn to stare at her like she had grown a second head.

“What?” She said defensively, suddenly finding interest in the wall next to them. Her face went slightly hot. Now, more annoyed, “are you gonna do it or what?”

“Are you going to  _ teach  _ me?” There was no malice in his voice, just genuine incredulity.

With a huff she shoved her arms down, turning to walk away. “I don’t  _ have  _ to-”

“Wait.” He caught her wrist, and if she could still feel temperature, she imagined his hand would be warm even through her bandages. The fact that he even reached for her therion arm showed just how much implicit trust he had in her— or maybe how stupidly carefree he was. Either way his grin was still easy, as it always was around this band of misfits they had formed. “Please. I’d be in your debt.”

She lost count of how many times she had rolled her eyes that night, but moved back into his space. 

“I only know the Eastgand style, so it’ll look slightly different than Eleanor’s.” 

“‘S fine with me.”

She set her arms back into position. He fit himself against them awkwardly.

“Move your right arm up, so that it’s under my shoulder blade,” she corrected. “Put your feet together, but keep the weight on your right.” 

The fabric of his leg was still torn up and bloody. He obliged, and with each command of her low, even voice he moved along steadily.  _ Left foot forward. Right foot forward and to the right. Don’t leave such a gap. Now move your left foot to meet your right.  _

“Now again, backwards.”

_ “Backwards?” _

“Technically I’m going backwards this whole time,” she pointed out, with a slightly teasing smile.

“Nevermind. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea—” 

He went to move, and she grabbed onto him more firmly. His eyes moved back to hers with surprise, and she searched the one she could see, looking for that patience he so often showed.

“Don’t think of this as a list of steps. Just think of it as… training basics. You have to learn how to grip a blade before you can swing it, right?” 

The words brought back memories of her youth, of training in Aball’s kind sun and being a bit too eager with a wooden sword to focus. But the bitter taste in her mouth washed away at the light of recognition in Rokurou’s eyes, like she had finally spoken in a language he understood.

“Focus on your feet, and the rest will come to you. Ready?”

At his nod they started again, slowly and just a bit clumsily, with Velvet dictating steps for him just under her breath. Soon he could go through the motions without her, but she could still hear him muttering the words under his breath. 

She moved as gracefully as she could from where he led, but his movements were still stilted and offbeat. 

She thought again of another life, of a warm evening and wooden floors, Celica and her husband dancing while Velvet and a young Laphi tried to follow. And then again a few years later, on nights when Arthur was out, Laphi getting frustrated but refusing to give up in Celica’s memory. She remembered what had helped him.

Velvet stopped, and Rokurou followed, blinking down at her as if pulled out from a deep train of thought. His eyes were so earnest. The music the inn’s phonograph had been trying to play earlier was grainy, and if she recalled, terribly unsuited for the dance they were trying.

With a sigh she nodded, and they started again. 

This time— under her breath and just soft enough that no one outside of the small circle of their arms would be able to hear— she was humming an easy melody, letting Rokurou’s feet match up with the tempo. With a bit of time the awkwardness melted out of his step, and Velvet continued her humming as she guided him to lead her in a small circle across the room, still keeping up their foot patterns.

She was surprised at how easy the song had come back to her, even if it was the melody more than the lyrics; it had been something about a woman, lamenting the loss of the fish that she had fed every day at the lake for the past few months, only to see it had transformed into a human once it’s belly was full. It was a silly tale, and a song she used to hate listening to, but it had been one of Celica’s favorites, and the way she sang it had always made it sound so wistful. 

Velvet blinked out of her reverie to see Rokurou, feet moving much more confidently across the room but with an overly-concentrated look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed down with harsh wrinkles, and through his frown he was still mumbling steps.

“Rokurou,” she said, with surprising gentleness. They stopped again, but remained in place. His eyes were so bright on hers. “You’ve got the basic steps down. Now it’s about committing it to muscle memory and  _ relaxing.”  _

“Right,” he mumbled. “Can’t be too stiff in battle.”

He was too concentrated on staring at his feet again to notice the fond smile that her half-exasperated sigh came out of. She shifted again, more into his personal space, and stood still to test the waters. When he didn’t move away, she said, “Try this.”

They started to move again. She gently moved her hands to cup around his neck, and his hands fell naturally around her waist. Even if she couldn’t, technically, she swore she could feel a warmth radiating from him, from where his chest lined up solid against hers.

This time they were silent, and she focused on the pattern of his robe’s fabric, letting him guide fully. From the way his head moved above hers, though, she could tell he was humming something to himself now. When she looked up to catch his eyes he blinked in silent understanding, and when he started humming aloud it was just enough for the two of them to hear. 

After some time had passed, as they completed another swaying movement across the room (Velvet occasionally throwing in an extra step here or there to entertain herself, and watched as he faltered before catching up, and eventually learning it) Velvet moved to close the already close space between them, resting her head against his chest. 

Their movements slowed, and they continued to dance in a much smaller area. 

“What are you singing?” She didn’t lift her voice above a whisper; something about breaking the natural silence of the small storage room felt wrong. 

She felt him grin, in the way his chin moved against her as he set it to rest just above her head. She normally wouldn’t allow such comfort— there was no room or need for it, not as a daemon, not as someone seeking revenge— but in the quiet, near-dark of the room she granted it, knowing no one would believe it even if they talked about it.

“It’s about a barrel of sake trying to take up arms to fend off rowdy drunks who want to drink from it. Personally I relate to both of th—”

She shoved him with her shoulder.

“Wh— hey—” 

Rokurou stumbled, and they nearly tripped over the imbalance of limbs. His arms tightened around her reflexively, tight almost to the point of discomfort, until they were both back on their feet again. They started once again, and soon his song picked up again. His chest reverberated softly as he continued to hum, and for a moment Velvet simply concentrated on that feeling, rather than everything else that was happening in the world. 


End file.
